Post Break Up Nights

I could hear the bitches screaming from outside.

I’m supposed to get to know her in a place like this?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s my type of place, good music, better food, and even better drinks.

A place you bring a broad to get shit faced, dance, and if you’re lucky, take home.

I open the door, pass the ghost town of a dining room, and head straight for the bar side.

Under a neon pink light are beautiful women, their ugly fucking dates, two bartenders running back and forth, and Tren Al Sur by Los Prisoneros setting the place on fire.

Motherfuckers are packed in like sardines under a hot pink neon light.

My date works at the run down sushi joint next door, she’ll be off in a half hour.

In the mean time, my best friend is running late with his date.

He just texted me five minutes ago saying he’s on his way.

I’ve known him for 20 years, he’s full of shit.

Probably hasn’t even showered or picked her up yet.

We both just got dumped by our girlfriends last month, so I’ll cut him some slack.

I finally get the bartenders attention after a few waves and some eye contact.

I shout “Mezcal margarita”

He cups his hand around his ear and leans closer to me.

I try again.


A sweaty dancing fat bitch accidentally bumps into me and knocks me back a couple steps.

The bartender shifts his attention to some other joker with a line up and a Clippers jersey and takes his order instead.

I should’ve pre gamed in the car.

A seat opens up next to me, and I rush to sit down like I’m playing musical chairs or something.

Tren Al Sur ends and “Amor Prohibido” by Selena plays.

Everyone goes fucking apeshit.

I can’t help but smile either.

I think to myself….

If this was our last day on earth, I don’t think anybody under this roof would rather be doing anything else.

The energy shocks my bones and warms me up.

A drink would make it that much better though….


Someone behind me bumps me again.

Fuck, dude.

Always someone fucking it up.

I turn around to a shot held up to my face.

“What’s up, bitch”

I was wrong, he really was on his way.

I smile, smell the shot, and cringe.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s mezcal, that’s the shit you like right, homo?”


His date thought it would work better if she just met us here.

Mine is still closing up next door.


We slam the liquor down and observe our environment.

These are the nights to keep living for.


This one was for my brother Alejandro Martinez.

AltaLoma 11:04 pm

Reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and to do your homework in the dark.

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